


The Monsters that Kill the Nightmares.

by hpautumngrl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood Drinking, Comeplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 08:51:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpautumngrl/pseuds/hpautumngrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between the roadtrips cramped in the car and the monsters they'd kill to pretend they were doing something good, Sam and Dean fell in love with killing... other things. And then they tried to stop. Somewhere between running from the cops and running from the family who'd abused him as a child, Cas fell in love with creatures even darker than him. Apart, they're broken, scared, not entirely sane. But together, they may just save each other from the thing that keep them up at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Wincestiel 2012 Big Bang. 
> 
> art for this fic by the wonderful terra can be found [here](http://terrorinyertub.livejournal.com/8897.html).

_Prologue_

She’d been sitting at the bar all night, nursing drink after drink and alternating between flirting with everything on two legs and rejecting the advances of any man brave enough to flirt first. Sam had been the unwilling victim of the former and had stood by as Dean pretended to be his suave and debonair self and flirt with the young woman.

Where the men before him had failed, Dean had miraculously succeeded, not only in getting her number, but in even convincing her to come back to their motel room with them.  To say she was completely trashed was an understatement. Had she been there with a friend, she probably wouldn’t have left the bar with two boys twice her size and who looked at her like she was a meal. She would have gone home in a cab called by that friend, slept off the liquor, swore to herself never to drown her post-break up sorrows in copious amounts of vodka and whiskey ever again, and continued on with her life as normal.

But she wasn’t there with a friend. She did leave with the two boys twice her size. And though she didn’t become a meal, she would never understand the looks of devotion that passed between the two men as she writhed under their bodies, succumbing to the intense pleasure they gave her. And she would never understand why one of them drove a dagger through her heart that night.

\--

When you’re on the road your whole life, you don’t see things the same as everyone else. When your brother is the only constant in your life, boundaries about love, desire, and affection are bound to become skewed. And when you’ve grown up your whole life being taught how to kill things? Well, the line between good and evil is bound to become blurry – disappear even – if you’re not careful.

Sam had never thought the love he had for his brother was strange, wrong, ‘taboo’; he’d only ever thought of it as love. He may have thought himself a burden now and again though, which is why when his brother suggested they hunt something a little more “human” he didn’t hesitate to go along with it. He thought it was just an itch Dean needed to scratch:  kill something that wasn’t hunting them for once. Because constantly defending yourself and the lives of people you don’t even know, often barely receiving a thank you before being driven out of town? Bound to drive a guy nuts. Dean decided he might as well do something to deserve getting driven out of town like a criminal for once.

So that’s why he went to Sam, suggested they hunt something a little more tame than wild monsters in the night. Sam would never suggest it, but he certainly wouldn’t stop Dean from doing it. That’s how they ended up in that sleazy bar that night, drunken woman hanging between them.

It was only supposed to happen once, just an itch that needed scratched. But the stupid thing about an itch is scratching it doesn’t make it go away. It just moves and grows until suddenly you’re pinning your little brother up against the wall, practically raping him – except for the fact that he hasn’t said ‘no’ and he’s making no movements to shove you off because neither of you can deny that doing it with a woman between you just isn’t cutting it anymore.

So it became a game - Sammy picked one night; Dean picked the next – the women always changing to see who could pick the best victim. The more she screamed the more fun it was. Sammy was good at picking screamers.

Yeah, when you spend your whole life pining after your brother, things get a little skewed.

\--

When you spend your whole life running from your family, life sucks.

Every sound in the night terrifies you. Every phone call stops your heart. Every knock on whatever door you have at the moment sends a chill of childlike horror through your heart. You’re constantly looking over your shoulder praying to whatever god exists that they haven’t found you. Praying that tonight you’ll sleep soundly and nobody will find you.

And then you find that one thing that keeps you safe. For Castiel it was killing. Small things at first: birds, squirrels, other woodland creatures. Then the prey got gradually larger. Bodies became more difficult to hide and prey became harder to silence. Castiel knew nothing of the supernatural and he didn’t want to. He just wanted to be strong and feel safe.

Cas never thought he would get caught up in the affairs of the Winchesters. But perhaps that’s what he got for moving on to bigger game. Sure he admired them; they had a body count he could only dream of.  And so what if Cas was maybe trying to draw them out by killing the same way they had?  It’s not like it would work or anything.  But a small part of him hoped he could draw them out… because if he could draw them out, then maybe they could save him. 


	2. April

_April_

“Man, we gotta stop this.” Sam gazed at the floor of the Laundromat. He’d been trying to say this for weeks, too afraid to stand up to Dean and his crazy ambitions.

“Stop what, Sam? The laundry?”

“You know what, Dean. At the rate we’ve been dropping bodies? Somebody’s going to start noticing. And then what do we do? Stay on the run for the rest of our lives?” Sam whispered then wouldn’t do to let the normal folk hear things like ‘dropping bodies.’

“But I like dropping bodies, Sam.”

“I know you do, but can you honestly tell me you still _need_ to? I mean, why did we start in the first place?”

Dean looked at the ground and mumbled something.

“Little louder, bro,” goaded Sam, hopping off the washing machine, shuffling over to him, and wrapping his arms around Dean from behind.

“Because I wanted… you.”

“And you’ve got me now, right? Am I going anywhere?” Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck, breathing in the scent of his brother, their soap, their laundry detergent, the hint of sweat from the damp heat of the Laundromat and a scent underneath that was all Dean.

“No, you’re not.” Dean leaned back against Sam, half-folded shirt forgotten in his hands.

“Exactly. So can we just… stop?”

“I don’t know if I can, Sam. It’s all we’ve done for so long. I need it, man; you don’t understand that, you never did.”

“I tried. You know that. I just don’t get the same thrill from it that you do. You never understood _that_.” Sam snuck his hands under Dean’s shirt to scrape lightly at the skin on his belly. “I’ll help you stop. It shouldn’t be that hard. We’ll just… stay in more often.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna cut it, Sam.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together, Dean, but we can’t keep doing this. We’re gonna get caught eventually.”

“Yeah I know, Sammy, I know.” Deans sighed, leaning into Sam and turning his head to catch Sam’s mouth in a deep kiss. Dean knew it wouldn’t work, whatever plan Sam tried to come up with wouldn’t get him to stop. They were two years into this. How did he stop a streak like that? How would he rein in that deep desire to watch the light leave someone’s eyes and feel the heat leave their body?

He couldn’t. Simple as that.

\--

Outside the Laundromat a scraggly boy watched the two overgrown men. He’d been tracking them for months now, was certain that these were the two men he’d been watching, envying, pining after. Now if only he could grab their attention. Yeah that was going to take some planning. So Castiel, the scraggly boy on the run from his family, watched and waited. It troubled him that after that day at the Laundromat things suddenly changed. No more dead bodies piling up in random cities, no screams of terror coming from slummy motel rooms. He didn’t know what had happened that day, but he had a fair idea: they were quitting. His murderous idols were quitting which, if he thought about it, was kind of perfect for him. It meant he could start up his activities and no one would notice the difference. 


	3. May

_May_

“I need it, Sammy. I need it bad.” Dean’s voice was desperate as he begged Sam for permission. He needed to kill something, break something, slice something open and Sam wouldn’t let him. Sam had to be in control and make Dean be on his best behavior. He was shaking like an addict aching for a hit, because, well, he was.

“No you don’t,” Sam deadpanned, frame sprawled out on the motel bed that was just about too small for him. He was flipping through the channels absentmindedly, not registering what was appearing on the screen. He knew how Dean felt though. It had been too long since they had their fun, since they made a girl scream for her life, since they got to watch the light’s leave her eyes. Outside, he was calm and collected, inside his brain was aching for a kill just as badly as Dean. Dean got off on the killing, but Sam got off on watching Dean. He was just trying to keep both of them safe, because they were the hunted now and one of them needed to be accountable for them.

“Please, Sammy, I – I need to. I need to.” Dean was fidgeting now, rocking back and forth on the chair, clasping his hands in front of him to keep them from reaching out and scratching, tearing, breaking.

Sam finally looked away from the TV long enough to look at Dean. “Come here, Dean, I want to try something.”

“This isn’t funny, Sam, I don’t wanna ‘try something.’”

“Dean, get over here.” His voice was low, laced with need, want, and sex as he sat up, reaching out to Dean who was slowly walking towards him. “You still have that knife in your boot?”

“Of course,” breathed Dean. If this was going where he thought it was going…

Sam crawled into his lap as Dean sat on the end of the bed. “Do you trust me, big brother?” was whispered into his ear before Sam trailed his hand down Dean’s leg, fingers wrapping around the handle of the small blade. He dragged the edge along Dean’s leg, teasing the skin below the denim, mouthed sealed on Dean’s neck, sucking a dark bruise there, marking Dean as his. 

“Always,” Dean hissed out before the blade nicked his side. There was a silent moment as Dean reveled in the pain, before he was flipping Sam over, wresting the blade from him and pinning him to the mattress. He tossed the blade across the room carelessly, not really caring where it landed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I told you I wanted to try something.” Sam had that glint in his eye, the one that said this could be the answer to all their problems and more. The one that said ‘trust me, Dean, this’ll be fun. The one he got when he had a girl on his arm that he knew would please his big brother. Dean hated that look. It was too cocky, meant Sam was too sure of himself. Sam knew what it did to Dean. Turned Dean inside out, made him drop his guard, and gave Sam the upper hand.

Dean loved that look.

Dean ripped Sam’s shirts off, fabric coming away a trashed mess. He didn’t care that it meant Sam would make him replace it later. “What made you think that was okay? Huh?” He’s angry now, caught off guard by Sam’s ‘experiment,’ hands digging into Sam’s chest where he’s pinning him to the bed beneath them.

“Thought you’d like it. I was gonna let you do it too. We need something, Dean. We can’t keep going like this, begging and pleading. ‘please let me go kill something, Sammy, last time I promise.’ You don’t believe that and neither do I. This is the solution. We tear into each other. It’s what we’ve been doing anyway. Tell me you don’t like the image of me pinned beneath you, high off sex and blood. Cause it’s the blood that’s key right? The thing that’s gets us all worked up. Never felt right, having those whores spill their guts on us, I know you felt it too. Wasn’t our blood, shouldn’t have been touching it. But we did, and now we’re all kinds of bad-dirty-wrong and we don’t know what to do with ourselves. This. This is what we do, Dean.  Come on, tear into me, I wanna feel that blade in my skin, feel your mouth on me.”

Sam writhed on the bed, body as desperate as his voice was, goading Dean into it. Dean was so hard he couldn’t think; too busy picturing exactly what Sam had painted with his words. Yeah, he wanted that. Wanted his Sammy, spread beneath him, marks that Dean put on him more permanent than the bruises and hickeys they’d been getting away with. Oh. Dean wanted it.

He tore off Sam’s pants frantically searching them for a blade or a key, something sharp he could use to do exactly that with. Dean remembered the discarded blade from earlier. He dove across the room, catching sight of a glint of silver, the ugly lighting of the motel room reflected back at him.

“Alright, Sammy, you wanted this, you’re getting it.” Dean’s clothes dropped to the floor before he slunk up the bed to where Sam had moved, meeting Sam’s lips with his. “You’ll tell me to stop if it gets to be too much, right?”

Sam just wrapped his fingers around the hand Dean had clasped over the handle of the blade and buried the other one in Dean’s hair. “I won’t need to.”

They were a mess of long limbs and abandon after that. Dean making small slices in Sam’s arms, his legs, and the soft patch of skin where hip met torso. Sam screaming at Dean to keep going, ’don’t stop don’t stop, it’s okay Dean, I needed this.’ Dean obeying Sam’s every order like it was the word of god, making each dip and slice into Sam’s skin one of pleasure for both of them, always tracing the cut with his tongue, trying to easy the sting of the blade, until Sam’s had enough and demands that he has a turn, pulling Dean up to kiss him, lick the red from his brother’s mouth, tasting himself on his brother’s tongue in a whole new way. “Need you in me, Dean. Need it now.” Dean sank into his little brother as the blade was slicing down his side, Sam almost brutal with the blade, Dean setting a punishing rhythm. Sam sank the knife in deeper, drags the cut longer, and Dean feels like he’s gonna combust, the pain and pleasure too much. He came harder than he thought possible and he almost felt bad he didn’t even try to get Sam off until he realized that the warm pool of liquid sandwiched between him and Sam wasn’t just blood.

Dean didn’t know it could be like that, wasn’t sure he wants to go back to how it was before, now.

Maybe Sammy’s ideas weren’t so bad after all. 


	4. April 2006

_April 2006_

_A soft thud could be heard as Sam’s head hit the wall, the force of Dean’s shove nearly impossible to overpower. Dean lips were hot and wet on Sam’s, tongue searching his mouth, hips grinding together until Sam was moaning into the kiss._

_“Please…” Sam pleaded, for what he didn’t know, so lost in the moment though he didn’t really care._

_“Please what, Sammy? What do you want to do? Hmm? What do you want me to do?”_

_“I don’t… I don’t know… just gah…” he hissed as Dean’s hips ground into his roughly._

_“You don’t know?” …a bite on Sam’s bottom lip… “maybe I’ll just have to tell you what to do then?” …a kiss and lick across Sam’s jaw… “Would you like that, Sammy?”_

_“Yes, please, yes…” he gasped, heart pounding in his chest, breaths ragged and drawn out._

_A soft kiss to his lips and then Dean was pulling away. “On your knees then.”_

_Sam sank to his knees dutifully, glancing up at Dean for his next instruction. Dean braced his arms against the wall, tilted his face down, eyes searching for Sam’s. “You ever given a blowjob, Sammy?”_

_A blush crept across his cheeks as Sam shook his head. “Never needed to…”_

_“Think you could do it?” Dean tried to throw concern into his voice, but he was so hard at this point there wasn’t much but lust coming through._

_“Do I have a choice?” Sam said it flippantly, like he didn’t think he really did have one._

_Dean’s gaze darkened, his eyes fixing on Sam’s. He reached down, grabbing Sam’s chin, forcing the younger man to look at him. “You always have a choice, Sammy. I mean if I told you to suck me, you could say no. Not that you would, but you could if you wanted to.”_

_“And what makes you think I’m not gonna say no?” he was trying to put on a show now, didn’t want to surrender so easily, but Dean knew better._

_“You keep glancing at my dick like its fucking ice cream,” he practically growled out. He let go of Sam’s chin, hand trailing along his neck to tangle his fingers in the hair at the base of his neck. “So do us both a favor, and blow me.”_

_Sam gasped as Dean released the tight grip on his hair, hands sliding up Dean’s legs to rest on his hips. Dean’s hips barely rut into the thin air, gently encouraging Sam to do go for it._

_Sam’s tongue darted out, licking across the crest and Dean hissed at the sudden texture of Sam’s tongue. “That’s it, baby, just like that.” He threw his head back when Sam wrapped his lips around him, teeth accidentally scraping the sensitive flesh, and Sam tried to sooth the sting with his tongue. It was wet and messy but Sam went for it, mouth and hand working over Dean until he was about ready to burst. What Sam lacked in experience he made up for with enthusiasm. He took Dean as deep in his throat as he could before he was gagging, tears leaking from his eyes as any effort he gave to keep from crying failed. Dean pulled him off then, brushed a thumb across his cheek to wipe at the tears. “Hey, don’t hurt yourself. It’s a blowjob, not the Olympics.”_

_Sam choked out a laugh and smiled at Dean. “Do I get to finish my work?” he smirked._

_“Nah, I got other plans for how we’re gonna do that. And for that, you need to get your perky little ass on the bed.” He pulled Sam up for a rough and chaste kiss before shoving him in the direction of the queen sized bed in the room. Sam sprawled across it, his 6’ 4” frame almost too large for the bed. He crossed his hands behind his head and leaned up, cocky smile plastered across his face._

_“Well?”_

_“Oh you think you’re so cute don’t you?” chided Dean, “maybe I should teach you a lesson? Teach you some patience? Roll your ass over, pretty boy; you’re in for a long night…”_


	5. Late May

_Late May_

It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Like coming home and being torn away. The greatest rush and the deepest low. And Cas thinks he likes it. He likes it a lot. He likes the satisfying squelch noise as he sinks his blade into her abdomen; likes the cutoff of the scream bubbling in her chest just before she dies. Next time he’ll cut the girls vocal cords though, he decides. He doesn’t like the screams themselves. He likes how limp she goes as the life leaves her body, how pliant she becomes, how easy it is to just leave her somewhere to be found; he likes how _dangerous_ it. He’s a drifter, never in the same place for long. No one can connect her to him. She was just some whore on the street after all. Bitch tried to charge too much anyway.

He doesn’t like the way her blood clings and sinks into his clothing. It’s too sweet, too sickly, a bitter reminder of a night gone haywire. She provoked him, he’ll tell himself in the morning. Tried to be a greedy whore and Cas works too hard to keep what he steals to give it away so freely. So he empties her pockets before disposing of her body. Serves her right.

It’s sloppy and careless and the best thing in the world and Cas wonders why on Earth it took him so long to get to this point. He understands those boys now, understands why they do it. But can’t, for the life of him, understand why they would stop.

Unless they found something better.

And immediately Cas’ determination returns. Time to rack up the body count, bring those boys to him.

The next girl dies quicker. No screams, no pleading. Cas almost applauds her resolve – until he sees her hands clasped in her lap and her lips move as she mumbles prayers to an invisible power. “Prayers to things that don’t exist have never helped anybody, sweetheart. You might as well quit while you’re ahead.” She whimpers and he slits her throat for good measure, kneels in front of her and drives the blade into her heart.

He goes through girls like laundry. Sometimes he leaves them to be found, other times, there’s not enough left of the girl to bother. He’s gotten adventurous. Torturing, maiming, anything to be a little different – to capture someone’s attention.

He decides to stick around at one of the body drops. Watches as someone finds the body, screams (and he flinches because he still hates screaming), finally calms down and calls ‘911.’ He waits as the first cop car shows up. Then two, then three. He watches them call it in, and there’s detectives and M.E.’s, interns and more shuffling about, getting the area taped off. He doesn’t stick around long after that, slipping from the shadows and bolting down the street He’s seen enough. Ruining his perfectly good dead body. How could they? Staying around had been a bad idea.

He never slept with the girls – the main difference between what he did what the boys did. He had no desire to. He was merely using them to get what wanted. And he’d have what he wanted soon enough. He could feel it. He’d beat off at night to the thoughts of what they would do to him. In his mind he’d lay there and take it, like a good little boy – because surely, men like that, they’d want a pet, a toy, a slave. Men like that always did.

But pets and slaves had to earn their place, Cas told himself, earn the rights to have men like that; had to prove themselves to them. He’d come with their names on his tongue, and he longed for the day he could hear his name fall from their lips. It would sound beautiful he hoped.

There’s a night, not long before his first night with the boys, where he can’t take it anymore, thinks they’re taking too long to catch him. So he’s freaking out, jonsing for a kill and he doesn’t care whose throat he slits – woman, man – he just wants to watch the warm blood run down their neck, see the life leave their eyes. He’s out at a bar, scouting the crowd for a victim, when he sees them. They’re shoved in a corner, drinks abandoned on the table in front of them, eyes locked on each other, room forgotten. He can’t see if they’re saying anything, probably not though – it’s too loud in the bar for that – and he wants to go to them, fall in front of them and beg them to see what they’re missing, see how much he needs them. But he doesn’t. He abandons the bar and his hunt along with it, no longer caring about a kill for the evening. He has to be patient, they’ll find him eventually, make it all worth it. The wait will end. He just has to lead them to him. 


	6. June

_June_

They were the Winchester Brothers: the country’s most notorious serial killers and the bane of Agent Victor Henriksen’s existence. The trail of bodies they were stacking up seemed to have literally nothing in common. The statements he could glean from witnesses didn’t help much either, mainly because there never really were witnesses. Sure, there was the odd creeper in the corner who watched a woman leave with two big guys she probably shouldn’t have. There was the concerned friend who would only divulge information after she was sure she couldn’t possibly be blamed for letting her friend go partying by herself. But there was no substantial evidence; no one who could describe their faces, no one who could give him a name other than Winchester.  He seemed to always be two or three steps behind them, but he knew they were there.

He was almost two years in and the body count had suddenly stopped. Now there were a couple of times when the body count would slow down or stop completely for weeks on end.  But this was the longest dry spell yet. Two months had passed and not a single body that could be traced back to those boys had shown up. Part of him wanted to jump for joy at the possibility that things really had ended, but a black cloud loomed over his shoulder. He knew it wasn’t that easy. It never had been with these boys.

Around the same time, a new set of bodies started piling up. Similar in nature to the Winchester Murders but different enough that he knew they were dealing with a copycat.

The latest body had been found in alleyway behind a Stop-and-Go. Henriksen scrubbed a hand over his face trying to wake himself up. He hated getting calls at two in the morning – especially when a dead body was the reason for it.

“So what do we have?” He glanced around for whatever poor soul had been told to fetch coffee, hoping they would return soon.

“Caucasian, female, early twenties, stab wound to the chest,” said the Medical Examiner glancing up at the agent.

“Anything to suggest this somehow isn’t connected to anything to do with the Winchesters?”

“Well, certain bruises and lack thereof seem to suggest there may have been only ‘attacker.’” He made air quotes around “attacker” and that got an eyebrow raise from Henriksen.

“’Attacker?’” he questioned, mimicking the M.E.’s hand motions.

“Well look at her. Does she look like she was at all terrified at the time of death?”

Henriksen finally glanced down at the victim. The M.E. was right. She didn’t look at all scared. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she looked like she might have died from pleasure rather than pain – you know were there not an obvious stab wound in her chest.

“Do a rape kit, just in case. See if there was any DNA left on her.”

“You’re the boss.”

Henriksen sighed. Yeah, he was the boss alright, and this was gonna be a long night. 


	7. Early July

_A road in the middle of_ _nowhere – Early July_

“I’ve been thinking, Sammy-“

“Did that hurt your head?”

“Shut up. I’ve been thinking: why do we want to kill this guy? I mean, he’s no competition, he’s just being dumb, trying draw us out I suppose. But we don’t have to kill him. Maybe, maybe we can like take him under our wing, ya know?” He looked like a small child, legs curled up underneath him in the passenger seat, excitement of his idea setting his face alight. “Maybe it’d be fun, Sam, to have another one like us.”

“What have you been smoking, and why haven’t you been sharing?”

“Come on, Sammy, think about it: someone else to play with, rip into, lose yourself in. You know it would be amazing, for both of us.”

“I dunno, Dean, can’t we at least find the guy first? Before we decide if we wanna… keep him.”

Dean sighed, Sam effectively knocking the wind out of his sails. “I guess.” Dean slumped against the door. He couldn’t stop thinking about the guy; didn’t even know who he was, but he’d be good, he could feel it. He’d complete them, save them from this hell they’d gotten themselves in. He wanted ‘him,’ needed ‘him,’ but he didn’t know how to make Sam see that, see how great things could be.

Dean slid across the seat, practically in Sam’s lap. “We could have an audience, Sam. I know how much you love being watched, making others watch you,” he hissed in Sam’s ear. Sam breathed in sharply; the words going straight to his dick. “Yeah, I knew you’d like that.”

“It’s not gonna work, Dean. You can’t seduce me into saying yes.” He tried to shove Dean back across the seat, but failed as Dean’s hands roamed below his belt, squeezing tightly. Sam swerved a little, the hand on him startling him.

“Pull over, Sam; you’re gonna crash my car,” Dean kissed Sam’s neck lightly, rough stubble of his chin scratching Sam’s skin.

“I wouldn’t crash it if you’d get off me.”

“Not gonna happen. Pull over,” he breathed into Sam’s ear.

“No. Get me off or get off me, but I’m not pulling over.”

“Fine. You break my baby, you’re fixing her. And if she’s not in mint condition, I’m cutting you off from sex. Forever.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Sam turned his head to glare at Dean and ended up with Dean’s tongue in his throat. He leaned on the gas pedal a little too heavily, needle on the speedometer slowly climbing into the higher numbers.

“I’m telling you, Sammy,” gasped Dean, pulling away, “you’re gonna want to pull over.”

And the look on Dean’s face, the look that promised such great and devious and twisted things, finally made Sam jerk the wheel to the right, tires crunching over the roadside gravel. He barely had the car parked and turned off before Dean was dragging him into his lap, pulling Sam in for a rough kiss, teeth clanging together carelessly. Sam has to brace himself against the window, hold himself back before he takes Dean forcefully. Dean grabs his hips, grinds against him painfully, pulls his mouth away from Sam’s, “Come on, Sammy. Whadya say we have a little fun?” And Sam can do nothing but groan in return and grind down into Dean’s lap, his cock already painfully hard and leaking in his pants.

“Fun’s good. I like fun.”

“We’re gonna play a little game. Alright?” Sam wasn’t sure he was in the right frame of mind for a game; Dean had him worked up, want and need and take all humming through his veins.

“No. No games, Dean. Can’t think enough for games.”  He could barely think as it was. It was hard enough to put sentences together that made sense let alone play a game.

“A deal then? It’s one I’m sure you’ll like.” Dean had one hand hugging the tight curve of Sam’s ass, the other cupping him through his jeans, forcing the hard zipper into his skin with the pressure and he was riding that fine line between pleasure and pain, ready to do anything to get Dean to just move this along.

“What’s the deal then?” Sam hissed as Dean squeezed him and he was two seconds away from coming unless Dean did something and he does something right then.

“I’ll let you fuck me, right here, right now,” and Sam practically came at the thought, “if and only if you promise to at least think about it. Think about how great it could be to have someone with us.”

Sam tried to breathe slowly, calm himself enough to answer and receive his prize. “Okay fine, I promise. Now let me at that ass, you tease.”


	8. Late July

_Late July_

The day he saw them in the Laundromat was a sign from god. Well that’s what Castiel would have thought if he had believed in god. To him it was just a sign that the universe approved of his doings. Why would it lead him to the people he admired most in the world if it thought he’d been doing wrong?

No. It was a good sign. Their pictures – well vague sketches really – had been on the news all morning. Guess that they hadn’t realized that, or they wouldn’t have been out and about in broad daylight. There were other signs too he supposed: the bloodspots on the shirts that had been haphazardly thrown into the machine; the affection between the two overgrown men. He just knew.

He also knew he had to have them.

He didn’t mean to practically stalk them for the next couple months, following them from town to town, it just happened. He ‘accidentally’ checked into the same motels as them, always staying discreet and invisible.

Until the day he clumsily bumped into them on the street when they were wandering around town sometime in July.

He got a dirty look from the bigger one, probably Sam if he was remembering those descriptions right, when he bumped into him, and a small growl escaped the (relatively) smaller one - Dean presumably.

Okay so maybe this was gonna be more difficult than he thought.

“My bad, I’m such a klutz, don’t know my way around my own limbs, I guess.” He tried to smile politely, pretend like he wasn’t doing anything intentionally.

“I’ve seen you around here before I think. You’re, uh, staying at our motel, the Motel Six off the highway,” the short one practically growled.

“Well I doubt it’s _your_ motel but yes, that is where I’m staying,” Castiel mentally berated himself for correcting him; that was not what he wanted to do. He wanted to get on their good side. “I’m so sorry. I’m Castiel.” He stuck his hand out to shake one of theirs. All he got in return were two very confused looks.

“Are you following us, Castiel?” Sam’s size was made all the more imposing by the glare he was wearing and the way he leaned in a little, entering Castiel’s personal space.

Castiel’s slight bravado fell. “N-no. Why would I do that?”

“Well we were hoping you could tell us… Cas. Because in our experience, faces we see too many times? Usually not too friendly.” Dean gave him a once over. Cas may have been mistaken but it looked more flirtatious than dangerous. That may have just been him getting his hopes up though.

“What? No. I’m just traveling through. Don’t even know what town I’m in anymore. Just kind of wandering around.”

Their faces softened a little. Progress. “What about you two?”

“I’m Sam, this is Dean,” the large one introduced, gesturing to himself and then the other man.

Castiel smiled to himself. Yeah this was them.

“Good to meet you Sam and Dean. Once again, I’m so sorry to have bothered you. I’ll just be on my way. Perhaps I’ll see you at the motel?”

“Yeah, maybe,” grumbled Dean.

Castiel walked out of there with a smile on his face. He’d found them.

Two blocks from the motel and Castiel was feeling pretty good, until a dark-skinned man in a suit decided to cross his path. He knew the look on his face: one of smug satisfaction, a tinge of accomplished manipulation, and a couple other things Castiel couldn’t really identify immediately but still screamed to him to run. So that’s what he did. Well tried to anyway. He turned, he bent his knees, and then there was another man headed his way. There was a building to his one side and a busy street to his the other. He was trapped. Fuck.

“Castiel Collins?” called the man. Castiel panicked. Thoughts of _he’s a fed, a fed, oh shit, I’m dead_ flashed through his mind.

“Yes” was his quiet reply.

“A man who won’t lie to my face. I like that. _I_ am Agent Victor Henriksen…” He flashed his FBI badge. “…and I need you to come with me.”

*

The white walls of the interrogation room were making his eyes hurt. He’d been there for an hour, silently contemplating all the ways he could escape with as _many_ casualties as possible.

His prospects weren’t looking good.

His best bet was to play innocent and aloof he decided. Pretend like he wasn’t here to be those boys’… well best friend was the wrong word but it would do.

The door opened and in strode Agent Victor Henriksen. “So here’s how it’s gonna work: you’re going to tell me everything you know about Sam and Dean Winchester, and if you do, I might not throw you in jail for a quarter of a century.”

“Who?” Always deny association with anyone.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. Those two overgrown baboons you were talking to outside of the Laundromat.”

“Oh! Pff. The only thing I know about them is that the short one is growly and the tall one can be incredibly scary.” Castiel scrubbed a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair, letting out a great sigh.

“And that’s it?” Henriksen crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“’Cause you, uh, seemed _pretty_ friendly with them.”

“So is it standard practices at the FBI to be a dick to every person you see on the street? I ran into him and apologized. Like a decent human being.”

“No we were watching them. And then you bumped into them. And things didn’t escalate like we thought they would which was pretty spectacular really. So it makes me wonder what you said to them to keep them calm.”

“I treated them like human beings instead of criminals maybe?”

Henriksen was growing visibly frustrated. This was not how his day had been planned. “You really don’t know who those two are, do you?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Alright, lemme tell you a secret. Those two baboons who were so friendly with you are the nation’s most wanted serial killers.”

At that, Castiel burst into laughter.

“Those two? Killers? Maybe of flies.”

“I might not be able to prove it yet, but I will. Maybe you can even help me with that?”

“And what on earth do you have on me that would make you think I’d help you?”

“I know how long you’ve been on the run.” Castiel’s smile started to waver at the corners. “And I know how long you want to _stay_ on the run. That family of yours? They’re some mighty scary folk. Guy like you – barely a grown man. I’m willing to bet you wanna stay as far away from them as possible, am I right? ‘Course you do. And I can help with that.”

Castiel’s façade fell immediately. “I seriously doubt that, Agent Henriksen. I so sincerely doubt that.” His voice was cold.

“Oh I don’t know. We’re pretty good at what we do. I’d just need you to do something for me first.”

“Like you could ever make me a decent enough offer.”

“Now just hear me out. We want you to get close to those Winchesters – become their best friend if you want. Do everything in your power to make them believe you. And then get them to spill their secrets to you.”

“You still haven’t given me a good enough reason.”

“You’d be helping us to catch killers! Doing your patriotic duty! Isn’t that enough?”

“Here’s the thing, Agent. I have no patriotic duty. I was relieved of my ‘patriotic duty’ the day this country forced me to run from my family in order to preserve my own life, instead of putting them away in a mental ward like they should have. So no, Agent, it’s not enough. These are men I don’t know and who you can’t prove to have actually done anything wrong, because that’s what you all need right? Proof? No amount of protection or help you could provide me would make up for the fact that I would essentially grow close to, and then betray, two, from what I can tell, decent, albeit jumpy, human beings. How do you sleep at night when you go around making shit offers like that?”

Henriksen sighed dramatically, frustration and dismay creeping into his demeanor.

“Well if you refuse to help us, we can always punish you to the full extent of the law.”

“For what? Runaways don’t get imprisoned; they get sent home and considering I’m an adult, there’s nowhere to send me. I haven’t done anything else to warrant arrest either. Unless you think I happen to have killed someone, Agent Henriksen?”

Cas was getting snarky, over-confident, of course he’d killed someone – a lot of someones actually – what on earth was he doing baiting the FBI man like this?

“You got something you wanna tell me there, Collins? Are you hiding a few bodies, too?”

Castiel leaned forward, body relaxing. Time to have some fun. “Hiding? Oh, Agent, from what I’ve heard about your killers, they don’t do much hiding. And your boys didn’t have to do much finding. If what all those reports on the news are saying are true, you got yourself a bit of a pickle. So why don’t you tell me why you really need me to go after those boys for you, Agent.”

“So you did know who they were!” Henriksen exclaimed as he slammed his hands on the table. “I knew I’d pegged you right off the bat!”

Castiel scoffed. “Pegged me? Oh please. Here’s the deal. Every person in the country is on the lookout for your two killers, not exactly easy to be oblivious about it all. So yeah, I think you got yourself a killer or two, but I don’t think it’s those two boys like you think it is. That and it’s really easy to fuck with you.

“Now I would gladly help you if I thought you were on to something, but you’re not. Am I free to go? Or are you gonna hold me on some bogus charge?”

The silent seconds stretched on like minutes.

“What makes you so sure we’re wrong? You’ve known those guys for what? Ten minutes? How can you "be so sure?”

“I read people really well. And you haven’t shown me any evidence that would make me change my first impression of them. They may be scary and paranoid as hell, but nothing about those screamed killer to me. Now, am I free to go?”

“You can leave,” was barely audible through Henriksen’s clenched teeth.

“Thank you.” Castiel strode out of the building quickly. New information had come to light. He had to warn them.

*

Cas paced his room for what seemed like forever waiting for them to return. The benefit to this was he was able to think about how he would approach them, get them to listen to him.

It wasn’t helped by how nervous he was steadily growing though. He couldn’t come out and say they were under watch - they’d probably just kill him. Yeah it would probably go like this: ‘So the FBI is in town and they think you guys are serial killers and they tried to get me to be a spy for them on you because they thought I didn’t know who were. But I do.’

Maybe he should just let it all come to him in the moment.

He stepped outside as their black impala pulled into the parking lot, tires crunching the gravel below, and hid behind a nearby pole. They parked and got out, and the picture they painted in front of the setting sun almost made Cas laugh at how cliché it looked. Too bad he was about to ruin the evening.

\--

The silent ride in the car back to the motel was interrupted by Dean calling Sam’s attention and pointing to Castiel as Dean pulled into the quiet parking lot.

“Sammy, look. It’s that guy from this morning. What’s he doing hanging outside like that?”

“I dunno, Dean, why don’t you ask him?” Sam snapped. It had been a long and unproductive day and Sam was still pissed about earlier. He didn’t like the look or the once over Dean had given that guy – Castiel – earlier. Dean’s stares and once-overs were reserved for Sam and Sam only and Dean damn well knew it. Dean didn’t know it yet, but he was in for one hell of a punishment, courtesy of Sam and his knife.

“Why, Sammy, I knew you went to college for a reason! That’s a brilliant idea!” Dean shot back.

“Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Dean. We both know I can put that mouth to much better use if I have to. So you better watch it.” The look in Sam’s eyes flickered between angry and mischievous so quickly Dean wasn’t sure which side he was dealing with anymore.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart. Your mouth is writing checks your dick can’t cash.” Dean smirked before he parked, stepped out of the car and slammed his door shut.

Dean approached the wiry man, not wanting to startle him, Sam trailing behind him. “Castiel, wasn’t it?”

Cas jumped at the noise even though he’d been watching them since they pulled into the parking lot. “Oh, yeah. That – That’s me.”

“You seem a lot jumpier than earlier… you okay?” Sam’s voice was soft, a nice contrast to Dean’s gruff approach.

Cas started to fidget with the edge of his shirt. “Is it okay if we – if we go inside? I feel rather exposed and unsafe out here.”

Dean raised an eyebrow but complied without much question, grasping Sam’s arm and dragging him with them despite the silent protests Sam was making. They filed into Cas’s room, Sam and Dean taking up station at the table beneath the window, Cas opting to remain mobile and pace around the room.

“In the next five minutes, I’m probably going to say a couple things that will make you want to put me six feet under. Don’t.”

That statement was met with loud mumbles of protest but he silenced them with a raised hand.

“I know who guys are – really are. You’re not very discreet – whether that be by choice or not I don’t know.  How you’ve managed to evade the law for as long as you have also astounds me. But they’re here. Now. After I ran into you earlier, they uh – took me into custody, asked me a bunch of questions because I ran into you and you _didn’t_ kill me. I didn’t say anything. When you’ve been on the run as long as I have, you learn to keep your mouth shut – never show anyone all your cards. That’s how you stay alive.

“I just needed you to know how much was at risk with you staying here for very long. I know you haven’t done anything as of late. Which is quite the feat for you two I’d imagine, but you’re still in danger. I feel kinda responsible for them showing up right now because it was probably one of my girls they found. I got sloppy and impatient and I just wanted you here. But now you are here, and so are they and I feel so guilty. I’m so, so sorry.” The last bit came out rushed as Cas was about to cry. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was the stress of the day? He collapsed onto his bed, sobs beginning to wrack his chest.

“Why, Sammy, I think we just found ourselves our copycat and we didn’t even have to look for him.”

“Why, Dean, I think you might be right.” An evil grin spread across Sam’s face; his day was getting better already.

\-----

_Two Days Earlier_

_“Another dead girl showed up behind a bar. Seems to match the other ones,” Sam said, peaking above his laptop from the table._

_Dean, spread naked on the bed, huffed loudly in response. “Copycat?”_

_“Copycat.”_

_“I don’t know whether to be offended that someone’s been copying our style or impressed that we seem to have inspired someone.”_

_Sam closed his laptop and dragged his own naked form over to the bed. “Only you would ever consider being impressed by that.” He crooned, flopping on the bed face first._

_“Oh come on, Sammy. Tell me you’re not a little bit impressed we inspired someone else to kill just like we did. That’s a beautiful thing, even if you refuse to admit it.”_

_“Beautiful it may be, Dean, but it’s going to cause problems for us sooner or later. Things were finally quieting down for us.” Sam crawled up the bed to wedge himself between Dean and the headboard, wrapping his arms around his big brother and nuzzling his neck. “You’ve been doing so well,” he whispered against Dean’s neck. “We’ve been doing so well.” His hands brush across the scars his knives had left on Dean’s back to emphasize his point. “We found something that was working.”_

_“You’re making it sound like this is gonna change things between us, Sammy. You know that’s not gonna happen right?” Dean let his head fall back on Sam’s shoulder, body slouching against the bigger man._

_“I know you, Dean. You say it won’t change anything, but it will. We both know it. Because we both know what we have to do.”_

_Dean closed his eyes. “Yeah, I know. ‘_ We kill the batman’ _” he jokes._

_\----_

Cas stared at the brothers in awe. They’d been looking for him just as surely as he’d been looking for them.

The boys abandoned their seats at the table, striding over to the bed, looking for all the world like spiders who’d just caught the tastiest fly imaginable in their web and they didn’t know whether to eat it or play with it.

Cas scrambled up the bed, back hitting the wall as terror crept through him. His plan had worked; he’d drawn out his murderers. Maybe too well if the look in their eyes was anything to go off of. These were not the cool, calm, and collected gentlemen he’d ran into that morning. These were monsters. Men who would chew him up and spit him out, leave him used and abused and laugh as they did so.

Cas let out a whimper.

“Oh look, Sammy. I think he’s starting to get the picture.”

“I think you’re right, big brother. I think you’re absolutely right.” Cas squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe that would make it hurt less.

There were muffled thuds as heavy jackets, layers of shirts, pants with the belts still in the loops, and weighted boots hit the floor.

They laughed at him. Actually laughed at him.

“Oh Cas. Cas, Cas, Cas. We’re not gonna hurt you. Not yet anyway.” He was pretty sure that was Dean. Sam hadn’t taken to calling him Cas yet. He was too scared to tell Dean off for it though. He knew what Dean could do to him.

“There’s a couple ways this could go down.”

“We could make you watch. Make you wish you could be a part of this.”

“Show you how beautiful what we have is.”

“And only after we’re satisfied completely, and we have you begging and pleading with us, let you join.”

“Because you see, Cas; little boys should never venture into unfamiliar territory.”

“It’s actually pretty unsafe if you do.”

“Especially if it’s already been claimed,” Sam hissed out.

“Or you could just join right now.”

“I know Dean here has been dying to play with you.”

Cas slowly opened his eyes… and the sight before him was magnificent. There they stood before him, start naked, eyes ravenous, muscled limbs wrapped around each other as they eyed him.

“So are you more of a voyeur, Cas? Or are you a participator?” crooned Dean, tearing his eyes away from Sam long enough to stare at Cas.

“I – I can watch… f-for now,” squeaked Cas.

“Good answer,” said Sam just before he sucked Dean’s ear lobe into his mouth, biting and sucking to make Dean squirm and moan against to him. “My Dean here? He’s a bit of an exhibitionist you see. Loves to make people watch him get fucked. Loves to make others watch him fuck me, too. Don’t you, Dean?”

Dean gasped in return, dick twitching and growing hard under Sam’s words and tongue on his big brother’s neck.

“I bet Castiel here is going to love watching me get you off. Aren’t you Cas?” Sam’s eyes left Dean’s to stare at Cas.

Cas nodded silently, eyes locked on the pair before him, body practically glued to his spot on the bed.

“That’s what I thought,” smirked Sam. He turned his gaze back to Dean. “On the bed, big brother, let’s show our new pet how it’s done, yeah?”

Dean fell onto the bed without hesitation crawling up it to lean against the headboard next to Cas. He brushed a hand against Cas’s cheek, pulled him in for a kiss and was interrupted but Sam tugging him back down the bed by his ankle.

“Ah, ah, ah. You didn’t ask, Dean. Now you’ll have to wait even longer.” Dean groaned in frustration. “And I haven’t even punished you for earlier either. Oh don’t give me that look – you know what you did. You were checking out Castiel over here before we’d even found out who he was. And you need to be punished for that,” said Sam.

“Now how do you suggest we do that? Should I ride you hard and then not let you come? Or should I make you come so many times you have to beg me to stop? Maybe I’ll just refuse to touch you at all and focus all of my attention on Castiel over there. I bet you’d love you that. Go through all that trouble to get me to let you have him and then I take him first. I bet that’s what you really want. Yeah, I can tell. You’re gonna have to be patient tonight, big brother. We’re gonna be here all… night… long.”

Castiel whimpered loud enough to catch Sam’s attention again and Sam smiled at him. “You’ll get your turn, Castiel, don’t worry. Matter of fact, why don’t you come here?”

Cas slid across the bed slowly, uncertain of whether this was real or just an elaborate fantasy. The moment Sam grabbed his neck and crushed their lips together though, everything felt real.

Dean watched helplessly as his little brother took the first prize. Cas was supposed to be _his_ first; he didn’t want to share yet. He tried to shove Sam off of Cas and got a gruff response of “wait your turn” instead.

“We wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me, Sam. Let me have him.”

Sam broke away from Cas and pressed their foreheads together. “You’re being punished, Dean. Don’t make me think of something worse.”

Dean sat back on his heels and pouted, creating an image so pathetic Sam almost gave in. “Lay down, Dean, and stay there. Don’t worry, you’ll like what’s about to happen next. I promise.”

Dean reluctantly lay back on the bed as Sam whispered something in Cas’s ear that made him nod and squirm with excitement. Sam climbed off the bed and bent down to dig in Cas’s duffel for a small knife. Cas turned away from Sam to crawl towards Dean, a near predatory smile on his face. He lay down on his side facing Dean, trailed his fingertips down Dean’s chest, tickling, catching on the ridges of his ribs and Dean tried to squirm away.

“Uh-uh,” Cas warned, resting his hand firmly on Dean’s chest. “You stay right here.”

Dean felt the bed dip as Sam crawled back onto it, knife in hand.

“Cas, would you like us to show you how we managed to quit? What keeps us from toppling over the edge?” Sam’s voice was honey and ice, dripping with seduction.

Cas nodded slightly, eyes locked on Sam’s before Dean felt the first press of cold steel to his skin. Sam pressed the blade in, blood welling up against pale flesh. Immediately Sam’s mouth was on Dean’s chest, tongue licking the sting away. Cas’s eyes never left Sam, watching so closely he was practically studying. Sam kissed his way up Dean’s chest, mouth leaving a bloody trail before he captured Dean’s mouth and received a needy grown in response.

“You see, Cas, it’s the blood that really gets Dean going. As long as we can control ourselves and spill only enough of it, Dean here stays nice and compliant. Don’t you, babe?” Dean nodded slowly, eyelids half closed in bliss. “Why don’t you try, Cas?” Sam pressed the hilt of the blade into Cas’s hand and guided his wrist to Dean’s stomach. “You think you can do it?”

“Oh. Yes, Sam. Yes I can.” His blade sunk into Dean’s skin a second time, a little deeper, and Dean hissed at the pain before Cas closed his mouth over the cut, causing Dean to groan instead.

“That’s it Cas, perfect,” encouraged Sam, sliding down Dean’s body to kiss and suck on his inner thigh. Dean’s hands balled in the sheets, the sensation of having two mouths on him almost too much. He thrashed against the sheets, begs and pleads falling from his lips before he could stop them and Sam smiled against Dean’s leg.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to come until you’ve been properly punished for earlier. You know the rules, Dean: punishment first, playtime after. Those were your rules, not mine.”

Dean growled in frustration. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry. Please just touch me, something, please.”

“Oh I don’t know about that, big brother. I mean, what do you think Castiel? Should we give him what he wants?” He bit at the soft skin of Dean’s inner thigh.

“Well I guess he has been alright so far,” smirked Cas.

“…I suppose you’re right.”

“…And I really want to know what it’s like to make him squirm with pleasure.”

“Ulterior motives. I see how you are.”

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Are you two gonna keep up the banter or are you gonn…” Dean was cut off by Cas’s lips on his, Cas’s tongue swiping across his lips, begging entrance. His mouth parted immediately and he was filled with the taste of Cas, his lips moving insistently against Dean’s. Dean was momentarily distracted as Sam’s mouth moved lower, finally taking Dean’s hard length in his mouth, tongue moving with determination. Dean tried to break away from Cas’s mouth to gasp at the sensations Sam was causing between his legs, but Cas chased his mouth with his own, sucking on Dean’s tongue, keeping him engaged. The distraction allowed Sam to pull off of Dean’s cock and slip lower, tongue swiping across Dean’s puckered hole. Dean bucked against Sam’s mouth, pleasure shooting up his spine.

Sam slotted his thumbs into the hallows of Dean’s hips, holding him in place as his mouth and tongue worked Dean open, tongue pressing against him, past that tight outer ring, tongue curling inside and Dean made little keening noises and whimpers against Cas’s mouth, dick twitching out spurts of pre-come.

Cas couldn’t get enough of Dean’s mouth, tongue exploring deeply. He savored the little sounds Dean made as Sam worked him over. He couldn’t wait to be able to be responsible for those sounds.

Sam pulled away from Dean’s hole, mouth trailing kisses up Dean’s stomach. He slipped the knife from Cas’s loose grip, sliced it across Dean’s thigh, mouth sealing over the cut again. Dean finally broke away from Cas, filthy words falling from his lips.

Sam chuckled, “So eager, Dean. Maybe I should spend some time teaching you about patience again.”

Dean bolted upright, hand going for Sam’s throat. “If I don’t get a dick in my ass in the next two minutes, I’m cutting you off for a week and making you watch me fuck Cas. Got it?”

“Alright, alright, bossy. Calm your ass down.” Sam tugged at the fingers still hooked around his neck. Dean relinquished his hold, falling back against the bed.

“So does this mean I’m not getting fucked or…?” Cas chimed in.

“Don’t worry, Cas. We’ll take care of you too,” laughed Sam, “I bet Dean would love to fuck you as I fuck him. Wouldn’t you, Dean?”

Dean simply nodded, words escaping him as the image of what Sam was suggesting filled his mind.

“Lube?”

“With the condoms in the bottom of my bag.”

“A man who thinks ahead. Perfect.” Sam climbed off the bed to dig through Cas’s duffel again and Cas crawled over Dean, straddling his hips. He rocked against Dean, worn jeans dragging against smooth skin.

“We should probably get you out these clothes, shouldn’t we?” mumbled Dean, hands skimming under the hem of Cas’s threadbare shirt.

Cas bit his lip and nodded, tugging his shirt over his head. Dean ran his hands over the smooth skin of Cas’s chest, so beautifully unmarred; he couldn’t wait to sink a blade into the flesh, watch it split open before him, feel the warm blood on his tongue. Just thinking about it had his fingers twitching and itching for a blade.

His arm fanned out, scraping across the bed searching for the blade where he hoped Sam had left it. The cold steel hit his palm and he wrapped fingers around it, tugging on one of Cas’s wrists with his other hand, pulling the limb towards him.

He pressed the blade flush against Cas’s arm, but hesitated. “Is – is this… okay?”

Cas swallowed, nodded slightly and Dean pressed the blade into Cas’s forearm watching the angry red line blossom against the cold grey of steel. It was invigorating being the first to do this to Cas, and Dean didn’t treat it lightly, eyes always watching Cas’s face for any sign of pain or a reason to stop. He pulled Cas’s wrist to his mouth, lips sealing over the wound. Cas threw his head back, eyes rolling back in his head. Dean let go immediately, panic flooding his system.

“You okay, Cas, shit I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, Dean. I’m okay. Don’t stop.”

Dean latched his mouth on Cas’s arm again, sucking lightly, before licking across the cut. He released Cas’s arm, grabbed his legs, and rolled them over swiftly, flopping onto Cas.

“What was that for?”

“It’s kinda hard to get your pants off if you’re on top of me,” said Dean, sliding down Cas’s body. He nipped at the tight skin, pulling and marking with teeth. Cas hissed before Dean reached his waistband. Dean opened the button and zipper, pulled off Cas’s pants and boxers and tossed them across the room. He slid back up Cas’s torso, mouth claiming Cas’s, cocks sliding together.

The bed dipped under Sam’s weight as he rejoined them, tossing the lube onto the bed. Sam leaned over Dean, kissing his shoulder and reaching for the discarded knife. Sam sliced open Dean’s shoulder as he leaned down to kiss Cas again, causing the older Winchester to fall on Cas. The smaller man groaned under their combined weight, rutting against Dean.

“You seem impatient, Cas.”

“Am, need you in me. Please.”

Dean groaned, reaching for the lube. He slicked two fingers before he tossed it to Sam, sat up and spread Cas’s legs further, hand running over the tight heat of him. Cas panicked slightly, legs twitching, tried to keep the panic out of his face but Dean saw it anyway. “You sure about this, Cas? You’re not gonna freak out and kill me are you?”

“No, I’m okay. Just do it.”

Dean leaned over Cas again, distracted him with his mouth on Cas’s, and pressed one finger in, swallowing the gasp Cas made at the sudden intrusion. Dean curled his finger tip finding that sweet spot inside Cas and he went crazy, arching underneath him, keening into Dean’s mouth. Dean thrust in and out a few times, slow at first, stretching the tight muscle, and waiting for Cas to adjust to it before slipping a second finger in alongside the first. Cas bucked against the fingers inside him, hands scrabbling across Dean’s shoulders.

Sam slicked his own fingers, placed a hand on Dean’s back and swiped his fingers across Dean’s wet hole, feeling as Dean shivered underneath him. He didn’t bother with the pretense of one finger, slipping two inside his brother quickly, fingers spreading wide, making Dean rock back against Sam, mouth breaking from Cas’s. “…Fuck, Sam.”

“Take my fingers so good, Dean. Fucking amazing,” Sam praised.

Dean watched Cas’s face below him, looking for any sign that Cas would want him to stop. He leaned over Cas, mouth close to his ear. “You need more, Cas? Or do you think you’re ready?”

“’M ready, Dean. Give it to me, please.”

“Alright, Cas.” He slipped his fingers out of Cas, reached for the lube again, slicked his cock, sat back and grabbed Cas’s knees, spreading him wide. He was interrupted by Sam’s mouth on his, tongue exploring deeply, taking his breath away as Sam snuck the lube away from him. Sam pushed him back towards Cas, Dean’s ass bare and ready for Sam.

“Why’d you stop, Sam? I was enjoying the show,” smirked Cas.

“Cheeky son of a bitch,” mumbled Dean, weight held above Cas, cock nudging against his slick hole. He caught Cas’s stare and Cas nodded, wrapping his legs around Dean’s. Dean sank into the tight wet heat of Cas slowly, pressure on his dick making him groan as his as he tried to restrain himself. He was used to quick, rough sex with Sam, but he wanted their first time with Cas to be sweet and slow, not rough. It felt like it took forever to bottom out and he stilled inside Cas, waiting for him to give him the okay to move. Sam took that moment to slide in behind Dean, cock hard against his ass.

“You gonna sit there admiring my ass all day or you gonna fuck m...” Sam shut him up by thrusting in hard, hips slamming against Dean’s thighs, pulling a moan from his throat.

They moved together, Dean rocking back and forth between Sam and Cas at a slow pace, Cas meeting Dean’s every thrust and writhing underneath him, Sam’s weight heavy above him, sending him deeper into Cas.

Dean rested his head on Cas’s shoulder, bracing himself as Sam slammed into him. Sam’s fingers dug into his hips and he knew there would be bruises in the morning. He mouthed against Cas’s shoulder, teeth worrying at the taught skin, sucking a bruise there to claim Cas as his.

He could feel Sam’s thrusts become erratic, signaling that he was close. He worked a hand between him and Cas, wrapping his fingers around Cas’s hard length, pulling and stroking, thumb flicking over the slit and Cas whined underneath him, arching into Dean and he came hard, ass squeezing tight around Dean, come warm and sticky on their stomachs. It set off a chain reaction, Dean’s hips stuttering as his orgasm caught him off guard and then sinking deep into Cas, groaning against Cas’s shoulder. Sam pulled out and fell against Dean, cock pulsing hot streaks of come across his ass.

Sam rolled off, falling next to them on the bed. A hand reached for Dean’s ass, fingers trailed through the come as Sam gathered a small pearl on the tip of his finger and brought it to Dean’s lips. Dean wrapped his mouth around Sam’s fingers, sucked and savored the taste of Sam’s come as his eyes fluttered closed.

“It’s kind of amazing how much he loves the taste of come,” said Sam, withdrawing his fingers. “Can’t get enough of it, can you?”

“Never,” replied Dean.

“Why don’t we see what Cas’s tastes like?”

Dean slid down Cas’s body instantly, mouth finding Cas’s slick covered stomach. He lapped at it gratefully clearing all of Cas’s come away. When he was done, he crawled to Cas’s other side, lying flush against him.

“Good? Sam asked.

“Amazing,” Dean replied and Cas beamed at the compliment.

“I think I want a taste,” Sam managed to get out before launching himself across Cas to crash into Dean’s mouth. His tongue drove into Dean’s mouth, searching desperately for any last trace of Cas’s come. He pulled away disappointed – Dean had done his job too well.

“There’s some on my stomach you know,” said Dean, catching the look on Sam’s face. A smile spread across his cheeks before he licked and sucked his way down Dean’s torso, mouth finally finding what he was looking for. It didn’t take him long to clean Dean up, tongue working efficiently, savoring the flavor.

“Dean’s right, you do taste good,” praised Sam sliding up Cas to kiss him. He pulled away from Cas breathless, rested his head on his chest.

“…So…Does this mean you’re keeping me or….?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Absolutely.”  

They fell asleep like that, tangled up in each other, cares forgotten for the moment.

 

*

Cas still remembers the first time he heard about them – the men who’d been killing innocent women. He’d been holed up in some crappy motel in Timbuktu hoping to god his family wouldn’t find him, yet again. Well so far, so good. He remembers thinking how wrong it seemed at first, two men killing for sport. But the longer he thought about them, the more he envied them. They had a freedom he would never have. They could go anywhere, do anything, kill anyone and not get caught – no fear of retribution, no crazy family tracking their every move. It wasn’t long before he started to want what they had. He became obsessed with them. Started to track they’re kills and movements. It didn’t take long before he saw them in that Laundromat that day. Things would get easier after that.

And now he was here, wedged between the two of them, their breaths even and in sync even in sleep. He was content – happy even. He didn’t know what morning would bring, but he couldn’t wait. 


	9. August

_August_

Two weeks Cas had been with them – an amazing two weeks – but there were still things they didn’t know about Cas.

Like what made him tick.

Why he did what he did.

Why he picked them.

They’d have just come right out and asked him but really how were they supposed to go about that? Sam thought they should just ask one day over breakfast or lunch or something. Dean wanted to wait, do it one on one. _‘He’ll talk to me, Sam. You know he will.’_

Sam was afraid Dean would end up slitting Cas’s throat.

\--

Cas always woke up in bed, buried in the heavy comforter and the tangle of Winchester limbs over him. These two weeks had been the best of his life. He finally had someone to take care of – two someone’s – and someone to take care of him. It was perfect.

Well, it was perfect until the morning he woke up alone. That was a terrifying morning. He woke up to cold air and the sounds of a whispered argument, voices steadily growing louder and more insistent. Arguments were bad. Arguments meant fights, physical violence, and more nightmares if things didn’t exactly go well.

Cas rolled out of bed wrapped in the comforter and shuffled across the room towards the source of the murmuring.

Sam and Dean were sitting at the small kitchen table, voices intense as they argued over… well Cas wasn’t exactly sure yet.

He hid behind the wall listening to Sam practically yelling at Dean.

“We know next to nothing about him, Dean. Yeah he’s sweet and he’s just as fucked up as we are but we don’t know why. We don’t know if we’re gonna wake up with slit throats one morning or something.”

That received a raised eyebrow from Dean.

“Oh come on, you know what I mean.”

“Don’t you think if he wanted to, he would have killed us already, Sam? He’s harmless now. You heard him. He has us now, why would he need to?”

“Because he’s a killer, Dean; killers don’t just stop.”

“We did.” Dean countered quietly.

“That’s because we had each other.”

“And now he has us, too! Why is this so hard for you, Sam?”

“What if I’m not enough - we’re not enough, Dean? We need to know what’s going on with him.”

“You wanna ask him, Sam? What if it’s something horrible? What if he can’t talk about it? You gonna be responsible for the mental breakdown that ensues?”

Cas bit his lip to stifle a sniffle. Dean was trying so hard to defend him but Sam was right; he had to tell somebody. He coughed a little to alert them of his presence and then shuffled into the kitchenette.

“Hey, Cas. Good morning.” Dean instantly relaxed, leaning back in his seat, watching Cas.

“I heard everything, Dean. You don’t have to pretend you weren’t talking about me.”

“Oh…”

“But Sam’s right; I need to – I _have_ to tell you why. You’re very sweet to try and defend me, but I really need to tell someone.” Cas’s eyes stayed locked on the floor as he huddled himself deeper into the blanket.

Dean looked wary of that response. “Cas, are you sure?”

“Yes. I mean, Sam _is_ right. You guys know nothing about me but I know so much about you and it’s not fair. I’ll tell you everything, but you have to be patient with me. It’s not… pretty. Any of it. So bear with me? And don’t look at me like I’m broken when I’m done. I don’t think I could stand that.”

“Yeah, Cas, whatever you want. No pressure though okay, babe?” Dean stretched out a hand to clasp over Cas’s, rub a thumb back and forth over the back of his hand. “Do you wanna… right now?”

“Yes. Before I lose my nerve.”

“Okay, come sit down though, you look like you’re gonna keel over.” Cas sank into the nearest chair, tugged the comforter even tighter around his shoulders. His knuckles were white from how tight his grip around the edge of the fabric was.

“I’ve been on the run from my family for as long as I can remember. When I was little, all I wanted was to grow up, find a good job, find a wife, have a few kids, live happily ever after. That problem with that is it’s really hard to look for happily ever after when your father makes a habit of raping you nightly and your mother does nothing to stop him. I can still remember the way he’d talk to me when he did it. On good nights I was his ‘precious little angel.’ Bad nights left me with bruises on my hips and wrists and school was always hell the next day.

“Eventually my brothers found out about it too and instead of taking my side they joined in on the fun.” Cas was shaking, curling in on himself and Dean didn’t know whether to comfort him or if that would send him into a fit. Sam had no reservations, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing lightly. “I tried –“ he choked, “I tried to keep them away but they always took it in turns and they never had a set schedule and I was too small and weak to do anything and nothing I said or did made it stop. My mom pretended like nothing happened, teachers never bothered to ask about the bruises, and nobody listened to me. Ever. So I ran away, the day after I turned twelve. I just grabbed a bag, emptied their wallets, and left. I wandered around for a few years, mainly avoiding big cities and stuff. Always used a fake name, always watched over my shoulder, always covered my tracks I thought.

“A couple years ago, I almost got caught. One of the clerks at a motel I was staying at paid too much attention to the kids on the milk carton I guess. Cops tried to get me and take me home. I thought it was funny they had even thought to put my face on a milk carton.

“I spent years constantly feeling weak, feeling like a coward for running away instead of trying to take care of it. And then I heard about the murders. Bodies that were piling up faster than imaginable and I liked it. I liked that there were men out there strong enough to take out so many bodies. And they weren’t all hookers and sluts, some of them were people who deserved it and I wanted that – wanted to be a part of that. So I had to find you. And now I have you.” Cas was crying by the end, tears streaking his face in hard lines. “I thought you would protect me. I don’t know why. It was like you had complete freedom and I wanted that too. But I’m still afraid of – of everything, I swear. I don’t like waking up alone and I don’t like being in crowds. I hate killing people but I loved doing it for you. I’m so damaged and I’m just throwing it all on you. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh Cas. C’mere,” Dean practically cooed, pulling Cas to him “It’ll be okay, I gotcha. It’ll all be okay.” Dean rocked Cas in his arms and held him tight.

“How? I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder. I’m always going to be afraid of everything. I tried the last couple weeks, Dean. I tried not to be afraid but I couldn’t. I’m so scared, Dean. I’m so scared.”

“We’ve got you, Cas. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll take care of you. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You found us, right? And you’re ours. Which means we will take care of you always, right? We’ll make the nightmares go away, Cas.”

Sam was slumped against the table, eyes locked on Cas, horror apparent in his expression. Dean caught Sam’s gaze and silently pleaded with him to help. There was only one way to make the nightmares go away.

They had to kill them.


	10. September

_Early September_

“We have to do this for him, Sammy. He’s scared out of his mind all the time and it’s getting harder to convince him everything’s okay.” Dean’s voice cracked through the phone, the sound of the car on the highway threatening to drown his voice.

“How, Dean? What could we possible do to make any of this better for him?” Sam argued back. He knew exactly what they could do, but it was currently his last resort. Because if they did it? Sam wasn’t sure h could bring them all back from it.

“You know what we can do, Sam. You know exactly what we can do.”

“No. We’re not doing that, because if you kill them, I don’t know if I can bring you back, man.”

“I’ll be fine, Sam. Just this one last one. Please, Sammy. Think about Cas. Think about how scared he always is. It hurts to look at him like that. And it hurts even more knowing I can fix it. Please, Sam. Please.”

Sam was silent on his end of the phone. Dean had a point. But Sam didn’t want to risk his brother to do this.

“Why is this so important to you?”

“I have to make it better for him, Sam. He’s always got our back. If it was our nightmare, I’d want to make it go away too.”

Sam’s breath rasped through the phone. “I just don’t want to lose you, Dean. I don’t want you to do this and not come back as my brother. I almost lost us once; I don’t want that to happen again.”

“If you let me do this, I won’t ever ask again, I promise. It’ll be the last time, I swear.”

“You sound like a kid, you know? Begging for a toy to play with or something, which to be fair is probably the most accurate description of what’s going on.” Sam paused for a moment, thinking it over again, one last time.

“You get this one, Dean. Just this one,” he finally conceded. “That’s it though, no more after that. We can’t keep doing this and you know it. Okay?”

“Yes, okay, thank you, Sam.”

“And you can’t go by yourself. You have to let me come with you. You don’t know what you’re walking into and I don’t like that.”

“Then you’d better hurry. We attack tomorrow.” The line went dead. Sam slammed on the gas pedal.

The road signs fell away as he sped down the highway. He loved their games of hide-and-seek. They were more fun and less destructive than other activities. And the reunion sex? Well that wasn’t bad either.

\--

Dean threw the phone onto the bed with a shout. “Cas!” he called.

Cas stuck his head out of the bathroom. “Jesus, Dean. What the hell?”

“I can fix it!”

“What?”

“I can fix it. Everything. I can make the bad memories and the nightmares go away.”

“But what about, Sam?” asked Cas warily.

“Sam said its okay. He’ll be here tomorrow to help. It’ll all be over soon, Cas. All of it.”

Dean was shaking with excitement, clinging to Cas like he might break him. Cas was shaking with relief. It would be over soon, all of it. He wanted to cry at the thought.

\--

It was a quick operation, sneaking into Cas’s family’s house and pulling them from their beds one by one.

They knelt in the living room, arms bound behind their backs with zip-ties like the worthless shitheads they were. The woman was silently crying, tears staining her nightgown in pitiful puddles. The three men in the room were stoic, masks on their faces refusing to break.

The eldest man, Cas’s father, spoke first. “I don’t think you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, kidnapping us like this. People will come looking.”

“Oh there are so many things wrong in that sentence,” Dean responded comically. “Would you like me to tell you exactly why you’re wrong?”

The man tried to lash out at him.

“Oh, no, no, no. You’re not going anywhere. Now first of all, kidnapping usually implies being taken from the house you’re in. And that you’re a kid. The word you’re looking for is ‘abduction.’ Second of all, you’re not going anywhere. You, all of you, are going to die in this house tonight. And no one is gonna come looking for you because no one cares. Because you’re a bunch of lowlife degenerates and rapists and you don’t deserve the air you’re breathing.” Dean was in his face now. “So I’m gonna take care of that for you, okay?” he finished calmly.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh but I would. ‘Cause, ya see, I’m good at it; really, really good at it.”

The color drained from the man’s face.

“There it is! Now who wants to go first?” Dean stood up and surveyed his victims. His eyes fell on the woman who had dared call herself a mother. “Why don’t we start with you, little lady? You seem like you know what you did wrong.”

Dean knelt in front of her, eyes boring into hers. “Oh don’t cry, it’ll all be over soon, I promise.” He caressed her cheek and she flinched away. “You’re the lucky one. You won’t have to watch me mutilate your boys here. Your death…” he pulled his knife out of his jacket pocket “… will be nice and quick.” He drove the knife into her heart and her eyes went wide, pain evident on her face. “I know it hurts, but it will all be over soon.” He twisted the blade before he pulled it out, letting her body slump to the floor.

“Pity she didn’t scream. I love it when they scream,” Sam chimed in from his corner of the room.

“You’re a monster!” The man on the end had finally spoken up.

Dean turned to glare at him. “Oh cause you’re so innocent? At least I never _raped_ my own little brother. Our kinky incest has been completely consensual. Hasn’t it, Sammy?” Dean stabbed the blade into the man’s shoulder and got a scream out of him. Perfect.

“And your little brother? He’s mine now too. All that pale flesh and sinewy muscle and unbridled wrath is mine. And I don’t like knowing that there are people who have hurt what’s mine now. So people who have hurt what’s mine get put down like the dogs they are, capiche?”

Dean twisted the blade and watched the pain erupt across the man’s face.  “…what’s your name?” he asked, stilling the blade in the shoulder.

“L-Lucifer,” he hissed out.

“Oh, perfect. Well, Lucifer, I am going to have a grand old time killing you, I can tell already.” He ripped the knife out, dragging tip across Lucifer’s shoulder, drawing a line of blood to the surface as the sharp edge split open rough skin. He received a hiss for his work and relished in it. He turned his attention to the silent man next to Lucifer.

“What’s your name, Quiet? You haven’t made a peep this whole time. Maybe I should sic Sammy on you? He’s really good at getting people to talk. He does this thing with a blade that’s so much pain it’s almost pleasure. He could have you crying out his name in minutes, I promise.”

“His name is Michael.” The old man spoke up again.

Dean laughed out loud. “Michael and Lucifer? Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. This is good, really good. And let me guess, you’re God?”

“No, Zachariah.”

“Well that’s a letdown. I was hoping for something better. Oh well.” Dean knelt in front of him. “Are you a religious man, Zachariah?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that men who rape their children get to spend eternity in the lowest layers of hell?”

“I’ve made peace with my lord.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh I doubt that, because ya see I think God has a sense of decency really. And men like you don’t get to enjoy his heaven. So I hope you enjoy the absolute lowest layers of hell. Because you’re gonna be spending a lot of time there.

“Now, Michael. How would you like to see your father’s insides on the floor in front of him?”

Michael whimpered. Lucifer growled.

“Oh speak up, Michael! Be vocal! It’s the last time you’re going to get to.”

Michael stayed resolute.

“Well, your choice I suppose.” A quick slice across Michael’s throat and he lay twitching on the floor, blood pooling thickly beneath him. “Well that was no fun. Guess I’ll have to make up for it. Let’s say we split Zach here wide open. I like that plan. What about you, Sam?” He called over his shoulder.

“I like that plan very much, Dean. Make it happen,” commanded Sam from his corner.

“Of course, baby.”

Dean grabbed Zachariah by the back of the head, dragged him onto the small coffee table nearby and forcefully threw him onto his back on the table. “You stay here. I have something I want to grab.”

Dean scanned the room for Cas, who he found crouched in a corner of the room.

“Cas, come here. I want to show you something.”

Cas hesitated before leaving his corner and walking toward Dean.

“It’s okay, Cas. He can’t hurt you now. Won’t be able to ever again when we’re done with him. But I want you to be able to do something before we kill him okay?” Cas nodded when he came to a stop behind Dean. “Take my knife,” he commanded, holding it out for Cas to take. Cas wrapped shaky fingers around the handle and slowly took it from Dean. Dean leaned in to whisper in Cas’s ear. “Now take that knife and drive it into his stomach. Don’t kill him right off, make him suffer. He deserves.” Cas nodded before he knelt down next to the man who had caused him so much anguish over the past few years.

Cas put all of his anger and sadness and guilt and frustration into the motion, bringing both hands above his head before sinking the blade Zachariah’s torso. And he did it again and again until he was stabbing nothing but the lifeless body of a man who’d tortured him for years. There was blood flying across the carpet and the walls and Cas was nearly bathed in it. Eventually Dean had to intervene, stopping him before he did more damage to himself than the body. Cas felt good though. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt okay.

“Cas, we still have Lucifer to take care of. Do you want me to do it?”

Cas nodded shakily, extending the knife toward Dean.

“Thank you, babe. I’ll make it a good one, I promise.”

Lucifer was pale and cold from blood loss but still alive – barely. He was slumped against the couch behind him, too weak to move, or too scared (it didn’t matter), just that he was still there. Dean knelt in front of him, eyes shining with the thrill of one last kill, pulled on his neck sharply, holding it back at a rough angle and slid the knife across his throat, digging in deeply, blood spraying across his arm. Dean savored the moment, watching with glee as the light left Lucifer’s eyes.

He dropped the body to the floor and stood; wiped the blade on his jeans and slid the knife safely back into his jacket.

*

The scent of blood running down the walls was more intoxicating than the hardest drug. Dean had missed that scent. He’d missed the screams of his victims and the struggle they put up. He’d missed the sticky warmth of the blood soaking into his clothes.

The bodies on the floor around him were a beautiful picture, lifeless and cold, terror permanently etched on their faces.

He’d gotten what he’d been craving for months and now Cas’s nightmares would go away. It was a win/win situation.

Sam watched him from the corner of the room, eyes locked on Dean’s every movement, waiting for a moment when he could step in and bring Dean back to him.

Cas, still on the floor near Dean’s feet, was caught between awe, relief, and terror. Watching Dean work had been beautiful, a ballet almost in the way he sliced and carved at Cas’s family. Realizing what it all meant now sent relief flooding through his system. He would never be chased by a family bent on terrifying him and ruining his life. He wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder all the time anymore.

Dean stood in the middle of the room, blood pooling at his feet, trying to bring himself under control. Sam reached out to him, fingers grazing his arm lightly, mouth against his ear, and whispered “come back to me, Dean. Come back to me.”

Dean slumped into Sam’s arms, energy leaving him. He didn’t have a voice for normal conversation, could hardly think straight. Sam waved Cas over and he came, falling into them and burying his head in Dean’s chest.

“Thank you,” whispered Cas before silent sobs wracked his frame.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll always be okay.”

And for the first time in his life, Cas felt like it actually might.

“I hate to burst our little bubble of affection but we have to go. Someone will call the cops soon and we don’t want to be here when they do,” mumbled Sam before grabbing Cas’s hand and pulling them all towards the door.

It was still dark as they clambered in to the Impala, dawn barely peaking over the horizon. Cas huddled against Dean in the front seat as Sam peeled away from the curb.

“Thank you for this, both of you. You don’t know what it means to me. Thank you,” Cas sobbed. Sam reached out and squeezed his leg as Dean held him tighter.

\--

Henriksen stepped over the line of police tape blocking off the property. He could smell the carnage from here. Four dead bodies; an entire family wiped out.  He stepped over the threshold and surveyed the completely wrecked living room.

The woman lay abandoned near one end of the couch, a hole in her chest where a blade had been torn through her. The two younger men with slits throats were abandoned next to her. The older man lay sprawled across the coffee table, hands behind his back and a chest that looked like it had been attacked by a tiger.

“What’s the news?” Henriksen asked the M.E. kneeling by the woman.

“They’ve been dead probably twelve hours. Same knife killed them all from what I can tell, about twelve inches long, straight on one side, saw-toothed on the other. It’s really interesting how different the deaths are but similar at the same time. These two,” he pointed at the brothers, “one was made to suffer but the other one wasn’t. Now she died quickly, probably didn’t even have time to realize what was happening. But this guy,” he pointed to Zachariah’s body, “he was mutilated. It wasn’t just a crime of passion, it was personal, likely revenge of some sort. These guys back here, they weren’t the targets like he was.”

“M'kay. Well why am I here?”

“Because one of the neighbors saw a black Impala pulling away from the house this morning. She thought that well kempt classic car looked very out of place in this neighborhood,” chimed in one of the female detectives.

“A ’67?”

“Of course.”

“So you’re thinking it was one of my boys?”

“Both of them actually. And one more if what the witness told us was right.”

The detective in question was a local; her long brunette hair in loose waves around her face paired with the three inch heels she was wearing gave her an air of femininity only ruined by the look on her face and the shoulder holster strapped across her chest.

“You’re familiar with the case then?” asked Henriksen.

“Very,” she deadpanned.

“Then this should make things quick, right?”

“Absolutely. Thing is, with these deaths being so recent, your boys might still be in town. If you wanted we could check around…”

She was cut off by Henriksen’s phone ringing.

“Agent Henriksen, go ahead.”

“We just received a call about three men climbing out of a black Impala down at the Inn on the highway. Owner called us because ‘they looked like they were trouble now,’” clarified the dispatch agent.

“Perfect, thank you.” He turned to the detective next to him. “I think we just found them,” he smiled. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Beckett.”

“Well, Beckett, welcome to the case.”

“Happy to be here, Sir.”

“Now, you ready to take those bastards down?”

“Oh, yes.”

“That’s my kind of girl.”

 _I hope you boys know what you’re doing. S_ he thought to herself. _Get out while you still can.  
_

\--

Dean’s first thought when he woke up wedged behind Cas was ‘ice.’ He was sore and overheated due to the extra body in the bed – because two months with Cas still hadn’t gotten them all used to the puppy pile they created – and he knew that only one thing would help. He rolled out of bed quietly so he wouldn’t disturb his bed partners, threw on some pants, grabbed the ice bucket, and left the room, bound for the ice machine at the end of the hall.

He only made it halfway there.

There was SWAT coming at him from both ends of the hallway and he was not awake enough for this shit. He would jump over the balcony fencing but that was a three story drop and he was not even about to attempt that on a good day. So he ‘surrendered;’ dropped to his knees set the ice bucket on the ground, and threw his hands up. They went to cuff him and that was when his fun began.

An elbow to the face, a stolen knife, a couple kicks to random chests, some slices there as well and Dean was feeling pretty good about his odds… until he saw a man in a suit breakdown the door to their room and he was frozen, couldn’t believe he left them unguarded like that, stupid, stupid. And he was shouting “Sam, Cas, no! FUCK. RUN!” and then he was being tackled to the ground, heavy body holding him to the floor, arms manhandled into a suitable cuffing position. He tried to buck the guy off him and got smacked upside the head for his trouble. His head was ringing and he lost orientation and he could tell he was fading fast. Fuck, what’d they do to him? He didn’t have time to answer his own question before he was out like a light.

Sam was a little quicker on the uptake. The loud crack of splintering wood jarred him from his sleep faster than anything. He was grabbing the closest knife – the one from last night as far as he can tell – reaching for a gun and he had it trained on the intruder in the doorway faster than his mind could realize what was happening.

Cas was still in bed, scrambling to consciousness in the sheets and didn’t know what was happening but he heard Sam’s voice scream “run!” and he had no problem following that order. The doorway was blocked but he knew there was a bathroom window. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing his pants and darting away. He’d forgotten it was a three story drop until he was in the air, bracing for impact. He hit the ground, legs jarring, a bit dazed, but there was no sudden rush of pain so maybe there were no broken bones. Or maybe the adrenaline had kicked in. Either way, he was taking off across the highway, avoiding cars, and trying to get as far away from the motel as possible. He didn’t stop running until he was out of breath and his lungs were burning and he was pretty sure he was okay.

Sam watched Cas leap out the window from the corner of his eye. He prayed to whoever was still listening that Cas would be okay. His gun was leveled at the intruder in his doorway, knife held out ready.

“Well, hello, Sam Winchester.” They knew his name. Why did they know his name?

“Hello, Agent…?”

“Henriksen. Victor Henriksen.”

“Henriksen, of course. So nice of you to drop by but you see, you came by at a very inappropriate time. Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to wake a sleeping man?”

“Oh! Oh, is that so? My bad. I’m sorry, but you know what else is rude? Killing people. Which is something you and your brother seem very adept at. And that little boyfriend of yours as well if I’m not mistaken. What is going on between you three anyway? Some kinky, _ménage a trois,_ heavy on the incest, heavy on the all-out gay?”

Sam’s lip twitched into a sneer. “Wouldn’t change a thing if we were. But can you prove any of that, Agent?”

“Well in order to answer that question,” Henriksen pulled out a set of handcuffs, “I’m gonna need you to come with me.”

\--

Cops have this horrible habit of manhandling even the most compliant of criminals. No one knows why, maybe they get a kick out of it. But Dean hated it. It made him want to punch them all in their smug little faces, knock them down a peg. He’d come to in the back of the transport van, strapped in tight, Sam right next to him.

“So, Sammy, looks like we got ourselves in real deep this time,” said Dean, still groggy.

“Dean, don’t start.”

“Sam, let me finish. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we ever started. That’s on me okay. This whole thing is on me.”

“Stop, Dean, just stop. Don’t say that okay. I was just as much a part of it as you, hell I’m probably guiltier than you. I just wanted to make you happy, and you want to know something? I don’t regret it. Any of it, okay?” He laid his head on Dean’s shoulder, the small amount of contact comforting them both. “So don’t say you’re sorry. We both know you’re not. And we’re going to be fine ‘cause we have Cas now and he needs us just as much as we need him. He’s not gonna let anything bad happen to us.”

“Did he… Did he get away okay?”

“I think so. Pretty sure of it. He jumped out the window like it was nothing. Gotta give the boy some props really.”

“Good. He’ll come for us then. He spent almost two years tracking us, right? He’s not about to let us get away now.” Dean leaned his head against Sam’s, closed his eyes and breathed. “Cas won’t let anything bad happen to us.”

\--

Cas couldn’t breathe. They’d taken them, those bastards, they’d taken his boys. How dare they?! He had to get them back, they were his to protect now after all and it was his fault they’d gotten caught. Well… that last bit he wasn’t sure on, but he had a strong suspicion it was true. He had to get them back, couldn’t let anything bad happen to them, not now, not sine he finally felt whole and good and love and wanted.

He had to have a plan; he couldn’t just go in guns blazing. Well he could but that might be more counterproductive that helpful really. Then again…

First, he had to get back to the motel, to the clothing, to the weapons. When he got there, he expected it to still be swarming with SWAT. He was wrong. He guessed they’d gotten what they had come for. They didn’t realize how big of a mistake they’d made, leaving him behind.

He broke into the room, flimsily replaced lock and crime scene tape be damned. He found it pretty much how he left it. He darted in, grabbed only the things he’d need: his duffel for clothing, a holster here, a gun there, a few knives, throw on a shirt and a jacket and he was all set. He grabbed the car keys and bolted out the door.

That police station wouldn’t even know what hit it.

\---

They separated Sam and Dean as soon as they were in the building, tossing Sam into an interrogation room and Dean into a cell. The brothers didn’t panic, too confident in their lover to come save them.

Henriksen followed Sam into the interrogation room after letting him sit for a while; Dean sat in the cell and stewed, waited patiently for someone to come along that he could hit or beat or kill if opportunity arose.

“You know it’s not really necessary to handcuff me to the table, right Agent Henriksen?”

“I’ve seen what you can do; I’d rather you be strapped down. And I’ve been looking for you for far too long to let you slip now.”

“Suit yourself then.” Sam was relaxed, confident, and Henriksen couldn’t figure out why. He leaned down, shut off the recorder set up on the table. Sam tensed a little, apprehension visible in his taught skin.

“All right, Sam. Here’s the thing. I just want you to tell me why. Why do you have a body count higher than the higher than the distance from here to the moon? Why did you have to do it with your brother? And why are you sitting there relaxed as can be, looking like you just won the goddamn lottery?”

Sam smirked, mouthing curling into a smile small. “Because it was fun. Because he’s my brother and I love him and I will do anything to keep him happy. And because you have no idea what you unleashed trapping the both of us in a building like this.”

“I’m gonna need a bit more detail on those last two.”

“That would require time we don’t have, Agent.” His face grew serious, mouth thin and white.

“As long as you’re chained to that desk, we have all the time in the world.”

Then there was a commotion outside that caught both of their attentions: a loud crash, two shots, and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the floor. A slow smile spread across Sam’s face.

“Agent Henriksen? Meet the cavalry.”

\--

The first gunshot knocked Dean out of his placid state. A murderous smile spread across his face. The second gunshot got him in to action. He slammed against his cell bars, creating a distraction and signaling to Cas where he was.

More gunshots, the sounds of blade ripping through fabric and flesh and Cas was in the doorway, blood dripping from the blade in one hand, gun barrel still smoking in the other. Dean sighed, small amount of relief flooding his system at the knowledge that at least one of them was okay.

“Cas! Get me out of here!” He reached through the bars, hands clawing at the air to get to Cas. Cas reached for a set of keys he must have pulled off the dead cell guard. He wrenched the door open and Dean practically tackled him to the floor in a hug.

“You came,” he sobbed into Cas’s shoulder. “You came.”

“Of course I came. There isn’t a force in the word that could keep me from you two.”

“Sam! We have to get Sam!”

“Sam’s fine, he’s grabbing the car as we speak, which means we have got to go!”

\--

The cavalry happened to be 6’ and had come bursting through the door with nothing more than a pistol and blade. Henriksen was on the floor with a bullet in his chest before he could blink. Sam shook his handcuffs impatiently and Cas broke them off with a warm bullet from the barrel against the metal and then his arms and mouth were full of Sam.

Cas pushed Sam off gently, stroking his face, “There’ll be plenty of time for that in a minute. Right now, you have to grab the car and I have to grab Dean.” He shoved the keys into Sam’s hand. “Car’s out back.”

Sam nodded and took off towards the door.

Cas leaned down and grabbed the keys off the dead – or at the least unconscious – agent before taking off in the direction of the cell.

\--

Sam was in the car, foot heavy on the brake, desperate for the moment he could peel out of there. Fuckers thought they could separate them? Pff. Cas would show them, Dean would make them pay. And Sam? Sam would get to enjoy the high those two would be on after they got to destroy everything. Sam couldn’t fucking wait.

\--

“If Sam’s fine then I don’t wanna go yet.” Dean stopped and tugged on Cas’s wrist like a child. “I wanna make these fuckers pay for ever thinking they could separate us. Whadya say, Cas?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

\--

When Sam saw the first hints of smoke curl against the window and seep through the cracks under the door, he knew he was gonna have a good night. It was Cas who had shown Dean how much fun it was to burn things that weren’t bones. It made sense that they would use that advantage now. _Those fuckers better hurry though_ Sam thought to himself. He was anxious and starting to sweat and he was anticipating the arrival of more cops soon, especially in a city this size. He honked the horn and someone opened the door, shoved a hand out in the universal ‘fuck off’ manor and Sam was getting pissed ‘cause those assholes were in there having fun without him. So he revved the engine once, twice, fully intent on driving away just to piss them off and then they were stumbling out the door, clinging to each other like a couple of drunks. Sam pulled up to the exit, reached behind to throw open the back door and they tumbled in, both men panting and laughing, and Sam stepped on it.

“I almost thought you were gonna leave us, Sammy.”

“I almost did leave you assholes though. I should teach you better than that.”

“Uh-oh. I think Sam’s a little upset, Dean.” Cas was wrapped around Dean, face buried in his neck, nuzzling and laughing.

“Maybe we should show him how sorry we are, Cas?” Sam looked in the rearview mirror and the glint he saw in Dean’s eyes was mischievous and full of promises of such delicious things that Sam really wasn’t about to say no because when Dean decided to put on a show?  Well, he _really_ puts on a show.

Sam turned on to the highway then, no sign of new cops but a great cloud of black smoke behind them and he knew the faster he went, the better the show would be so he pushed the needle further, car screaming down the empty road.

The grunts and whimpers from the backseat drew his attention and he focused on the two in the rearview mirror going at it like rabbits that had just got out of jail – which was technically true for one of them. Dean was pinned on his back in the seat, pants barely clinging to his hips at that point and Cas’s mouth was around his cock, and Dean looked like he was going to fucking _die_ it was that good. His mouth fell open, silent screams of pleasure and Cas looked up at him like he was afraid he might break Dean.

Sam palmed the bulge currently growing in his own jeans and told Cas to keep going. He kept is eyes open for any break in the interstate, a safe place for them to pullover and hide out for a moment or several. He heard a hand slap the leather seat and checked the mirror to see Dean’s head thrown back in pleasure, Cas’s mouth and throat still locked around him.

“Jesus… fuck… Cas, I’m gonna…” but he couldn’t finish his sentence before he was coming down Cas’s throat, hips stuttering with orgasm, Cas trying to swallow everything Dean was giving him.

“I don’t know who taught you to do that but it sure as hell wasn’t me. But I think… I want to send them… a gift basket…” Dean left out between heavy pants.

“I’ll be sure to let them know you appreciate my skills, Dean.”

“You… you do that.”


	11. October - Epilogue

_October - Epilogue_

It’s funny and it doesn’t make sense but even with another person in their bed, it’s easier than ever for Dean to sneak away in the middle of the night. He does it for their benefit, he tells himself. He does it so he doesn’t have to rip into them constantly – it makes them all weak when he does.

So he sneaks away, finds a girl, makes her scream, slits her throat, and leaves her somewhere. He’s getting sloppy, he knows, but he can’t be bothered to care. Doesn’t care if he gets caught or if he gets them all caught and he _should_ feel bad and awful and terrible but he doesn’t… not until the night he comes back to a very worried Cas who had planted himself by the door, waiting for Dean to return.

The look Cas gives Dean as he tries to sneak in almost makes him turn around and leave. He’s about to be scolded, he can feel it – just like a damn child. But Cas doesn’t scold him. He doesn’t raise his voice or even open his mouth. He simply walks over to Dean… and hugs him. Dean’s frozen, doesn’t know what to do because for all the fucking they’ve done and the puppy pile they create in bed, Cas has never flat out hugged him before.

“I missed you,” Cas states as if that answers all Dean’s question, breathing normally again, like he hasn’t since he woke up and found the bed void of Dean.

Dean can’t help the twinge of guilt that grips his torso at that. He’s supposed to be responsible for the man clinging to him now and the man still passed out in the bed, and he’s being nothing but irresponsible, putting all of them at risk like this, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

Dean wraps his arms around Cas and Cas buries his face in Dean’s shoulder, balls his fists in Dean’s jacket and Dean’s suddenly acutely aware of the blood staining his sleeves and his front so he starts to panic, starts to pull away. Cas clings to him even harder instead and mumbles something so quietly Dean can barely hear him.

“Cas, babe, I need you to speak up.”

“I said, ‘it’s okay, you know. I don’t hate you for it.’ You looked like you were about to panic and I didn’t want you to do that.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“He doesn’t hate you either. He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t hate you. We’re scared and concerned, but we could never hate you.”

Dean closes his eyes, squeezes Cas tighter, and breathes, tries to focus on anything and everything besides how big of a failure feels like.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up and then come back to bed okay?”

Dean nods but doesn’t let go. He doesn’t think he could move even if he had to.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Cas. I’m being selfish and I know it. But I don’t know how to stop, Cas. I can’t do it. I need it.” Dean’s choking back sobs, trying and failing to keep himself in check.

“I know, Dean, I know but we really need to get you cleaned up. Come on.” Cas lets go of Dean’s jacket to reach down and grab his hand to lead him to the bathroom. It’s bright and cold and too white and too clean and it sets Dean’s teeth on edge. Cas closes the lid to the toilet seat and instructs Dean to sit down. Dean refuses at first, not even daring to step foot in the room itself. He doesn’t want to taint it, disrupt it. He wants to keep this – whatever ’this’ is that’s wrong with him – to himself. But Cas begs him to, says he’ll feel better if he’s clean. So Dean inches into the room and tries not to touch anything. Cas sits on the edge of the bathtub, testing the water temperature and reaching for a rag and the little bar of motel soap. Dean doesn’t know what to do with the hands in his lap so he fidgets, tries to clean the gunk out from under his nails, but it doesn’t work, only makes things worse.

Cas grabs Dean’s hand, scrubs the cloth over his palm, up his wrist, across the back of his hand immediately the skin below is clean and visible. Dean stares at his hand like it’s some magical new growth and Cas can’t help but laugh which startles Dean.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“Cas starts.

“It’s okay,” Dean gets out through a smile. “Really, Cas, I promise,” he reassures at the look on Cas’s face.

In the bright light of the bathroom, Cas is able to see the full scope of blood spatter on Dean.

“It might be easier if we simply step in the shower, you know.” Dean nods before attempting to pull his clothes off. Somehow he’s childlike and grown up and so old all at once and Cas can’t help but smile at the man in front of him. He has to help Dean strip before he can turn the water onto the overhead spray, slide the curtain shut, undress himself and step in, pulling Dean with him.

The spray is warm and fast, perfect for washing off the blood that pools at the bottom of the tub, curling against the stream, bright and angry against the white before disappearing down the drain. Cas grabs the bar of soap again, lathers the rag and grabs Dean’s other arm, carefully rubbing at the layer of blood still there. He scrubs at every inch of Dean he can see until he’s satisfied with how clean Dean is.

Dean leans his forehead on Cas’s, grips his shoulders tightly, and breathes – slowly and deeply at first, like he hasn’t been able to all night. Soon Cas is breathing with him, every breath shared between them and then Dean grips Cas’s face in his hands and whispers “thank you” before smashing their lips together, groans of pleasure and frustration permeating the air. Dean pushes Cas into the wall behind him, stepping out from under the spray Cas had so diligently placed him under.

Dean’s slow and gentle and so unlike his normal self that Cas should be worried, but Cas just had his hands on nearly every inch of that body, he knows it’s him. Dean’s kissing his neck and collarbones, grabbing Cas’s leg and hitching it around his waist. Cas is so hard and he doesn’t know when that happened but he hisses at the first warm touch of their cocks and it’s so warm and so great that Cas can’t breathe. He just arches into Dean, grabs his chin to bring their mouths together and moans into the kiss.

Dean buries his hand in Cas’s hair, grip tight but not painful. It pulls keening noises from Cas and Dean pulls harder relishing in the control he has over Cas. Cas is shaking with want underneath him, every nerve on fire, his hands digging into Dean’s shoulder to pull him closer, hips in constant motion, searching out even a tiny bit of friction, weight of his body balanced precariously between Dean and the shower wall. Dean bit at his chin, his neck, his shoulder, one hand still locked in his hair; other hand working between them, pressure of his cock against Cas’s sending pleasure up his spine.

Dean pulls away from him, turns him around and pins him to wall. “I need you to stay still, Cas. Please.”

Cas goes limp against the wall as he feels Dean crowd him against it. Dean’s mouth is rough against Cas’s neck, biting and sucking, creating bruises in the skin that are sure to be there for a week. But Cas doesn’t mind, never really has. He likes the little reminders of who he belongs to and who can take care of him. He feels Dean’s nails dig into his hips and he arches his back, presses himself closer to Dean. Dean’s holding himself back, doesn’t want to hurt the man in front of him.

“Do what you need to, Dean. I can take it.”

But then Dean is pulling away, stepping out of the shower and leaving Cas all alone. He hears the bathroom door click before it hits him, before he can even acknowledge what just happened. He reaches to turn off the shower, grabs a towel from the rack above the toilet to wrap around his waist, and chases after Dean.

He finds him curled up under the covers of the unused bed – the one they never use unless something’s wrong between the three of them or they’ve managed to completely destroy the other one.

Cas stands in the wan light of the bathroom, debating whether or not he should crawl into Dean’s bed with him. It takes Cas a moment to realize Dean is crying – something Cas hasn’t seen him do before. He’s not sure what to do so he decides to test his luck and crawls in bed behind Dean, prays to God he won’t kick him out of bed.  It’s a moment before he does anything but lie there, before he’s wrapping his arms around Dean and Dean is burying himself in Cas’s arms, pressing himself as close to Cas as possible.

Dean doesn’t remember falling asleep; doesn’t remember when his sniffles turned to snores or when Sam crawled into bed with them. He can’t bring himself to get out of bed when he wakes up. Sam and Cas stay in bed with him, demonstrating their forgiveness with their lips on his and each other and the way they take care of him.  But he’s content to lie where he is, wrapped in the arms of his brother and the boy who turned out to be more of an angel than a burden. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all the wonderful people who helped me make this happen: [terrorinyertub](http://terrorinyertub.livejournal.com/) for being an amazing artist; [leavitivity](http://leavitivity.tumblr.com/), [antonymmouse](http://antonymmouse.tumblr.com/), [hammerduke](http://hammerduke.tumblr.com/), [drivingtokansas](http://drivingtokansas.tumblr.com/), for giving me amazing feedback and being awesome betas. 
> 
>  
> 
> This thing ate my life for two months and I think it might actually be worth it. Now I can move on to other exciting ventures!


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